


This Is The Point Where You Say Something Is Wrong

by mydeira



Series: Something Maybe 'Verse [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-21 04:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding comfort in the most unlikely of places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is The Point Where You Say Something Is Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers (though does it even matter now?): through “Ghost Machine” and for the really, really good HD Series One promo (which I may have watched oh a few too many times)
> 
> Disclaimer: Sadly, I am neither RTD nor the BBC. This is purely for the exorcism of the big bad bunny that landed on my head at four a.m. Most bunnies nibble or bite, but, no, this one had to land like a freakin’ anvil on top of my head.
> 
> A/N: I had no intention of ever going near this pairing, but you know what they say about good intentions. *sigh* And now I'm kind of hooked on it. The title is a bastardization of a lyric from Jakob Dylan’s “Stardust Universe.” Also, thank you to sadbhyl for the beta and support. Though, really, should insanity be encouraged?

Gwen could still feel his blood on her hands, hot and sticky slick. A man was dead because of her, because she had seen the future and guessed wrong. Intellectually she knew it wasn’t her fault, and she knew Jack was right, Ed Morgan had wanted to die and would have found a way to do that. But that didn’t change facts. She was there that night to keep Owen from killing, to keep everyone alive. Instead, she was the reason a man was dead. Even if it was deservedly so.

She hadn’t told Rhys. She couldn’t. But, more importantly, she didn’t want to. She knew he’d be understanding, wouldn’t think less of her, would probably love her all the more, and yet… She told herself that she was trying to protect him from the world she found herself in now. But it had started long before her first direct encounter with Torchwood, when she lied to Rhys about having been at the scene of that murder. He could handle the truth, more than handle it. She just… She was lying to herself. Deep down, it wasn’t that she was trying to protect Rhys, she just didn’t want to share that with him.

That added in with how supportive he was trying to be, giving her enough space but being there for her as well, made Gwen feel like a complete and utter shit.

Then there was Jack. Jack’s concern almost aggravated her more than Rhys’ did, mainly because she could tell Jack genuinely understood what she was going through. He had been there for her since the beginning, challenging and guiding her through the insane things she found herself facing. But she didn’t want comfort or understanding or advice. She didn’t deserve it.

Which was why, two weeks to the day after she murdered Ed Morgan, Gwen found herself standing outside Owen’s flat, knocking quickly on the door before she could change her mind.

He opened the door, leaning against it with a smirk. “Newbie, to what do I owe the honor?” But there was something slightly forced in his manner. He hadn’t entirely been his usual prickish self the last couple of weeks.

“You going to make me stand out here all night, or do you have manners enough to invite a girl inside?” she replied at last, her tone sharper than she’d intended.

He frowned, studying her for a moment, then stepped aside.

Gwen entered without a word. It was a really nice flat, cleanly and, she would imagine, fairly expensively decorated. But it wasn’t overly pretentious or begging for attention. Unlike its owner. Usually.

“You intending to stay awhile, or did you just come to see how the better half lives?” Again, there was something off in his tone, like his heart really wasn’t in it.

She slipped off her leather jacket and held it out to him. “Be staying a bit. And I’ll take a drink, thanks.”

Her directness seemed to amuse him. He took her coat and hung it up in the corner. “No reason to waste good manners on me, is there?” Crossing the room, he made his way to a cabinet. “Sorry, I’m all out of wine, newbie, think you can handle something as manly as whiskey?”

“So long as it’s not cheap shite.”

Owen glanced over his shoulder. “Do I strike you as the type that would skimp on quality?”

She flashed him a tight smile and sat on the couch. A moment later he brought her over a generously filled glass of amber liquid. No ice and no soda. Just straight, undiluted alcohol. Which was exactly what she’d wanted.

He took a seat in the armchair across from her, picked up his own glass, and took a sip. “You never answered me, sweetheart, what are you doing here? Cardiff’s no London, but there’s no shortage of off-licenses and bars here. Plenty of places to go to get alcohol without subjecting yourself to my company.”

“Needed a bit of perspective. And there’s no shortage of perspective around a tosser like you, Owen.” She took a large swallow of the whiskey, enjoying the burn as it traveled to her stomach. He definitely invested in the good stuff.

“Invite yourself into my home and insult me. There’s hope for you yet, Gwen.”

Gwen very nearly choked on her drink. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually called her by name since she’d joined Torchwood. Generally, it was newbie, with the occasional sweetheart, sweetcheeks, babe, what have you thrown in to get a rise out of her.

“So what’s this perspective you think I can give you?” he pressed.

“Don’t know, really,” she said, looking anywhere but at him. Her gaze landed on the big picture window and his remarkable view of the bay. It truly was a really nice flat. She got up and went over to look out. Finally, she spoke again, watching the lights dance in the dark water. “Suppose I wanted to be around someone who wasn’t all nice and understanding for a change.”

“So you decided to pay a visit to the number one bastard in the office.” She could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Not going to deny it?”

She wasn’t aware he had moved until his voice came from directly behind her. “Why should I? It’s what I am, right?” There was no trace of the normal flipness in his voice. It was just a sober statement of fact.

Gwen turned then and looked at Owen, really looked at him. There were faint dark smudges under his eyes. The eyes themselves weren’t as bright as they usually seemed.

“Haven’t been sleeping much, have you?”

“It’s not like our job has the most normal hours ever,” he replied, but the words lacked any real bite. “But I’m thinking I’ve been getting a hell of a lot more than you.”

“Perhaps,” she murmured and finished off the rest of her drink.

Owen reached for the glass, but Gwen didn’t immediately let go, frozen by the light touch of his fingers against her own. It was one of those moments that stretched out too long. One of them obviously had to move, otherwise they’d be stuck there forever, but that didn’t seem to be enough incentive to let go. That was all she had to do, let go. Easy. And yet…

It was Owen who broke the moment. But instead of letting go, he tugged the glass towards himself, pulling her forward. And before Gwen quite knew what was happening, she was snogging Owen Harper. For the first time in two weeks she felt something other than guilt and self-loathing and, God, she wanted more. So, more she took, taking control and kissing Owen back with a desperate hunger that might have normally scared her, none of which seemed to trouble Owen as he pulled her closer, his free hand settling on her lower back.

Surprisingly, though, he was the one to finally break the kiss. His dark eyes regarded her skeptically. “What game are you playing at, Gwen?”

“No games, Owen. I’m too tired to play them.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she placed her fingers against his lips, silencing him. “If your next words are that I’m not myself right now, you hardly know me well enough to judge.”

One of his eyebrows quirked up. Then he gave her a look that seemed to say, “May I speak now?” She drew her hand away.

“What I was going to say,” he began, sounding more like himself than he had in weeks, “is that you are a liar. A person who kisses like you just did always has some game they’re playing at.” She started to step away, but his grip tightened, holding her there. “But I’m the last person that sort of thing bothers. I just like to know the lay of the land before things go too far.”

“The better to turn it to your advantage.”

“Exactly.”

Gwen found that she didn’t entirely believe him. It sounded like the way he would think, but… Right now, it didn’t matter. She shoved the thought away and, to prevent further conversation, initiated the kiss this time.

The glass thudded dully on the carpet as they both seemed to simultaneously decide that their hands could be put to better use. His slipped under her shirt, sending shivers radiating outward as he skated across bare skin. She settled hers on his bum and decided after a firm squeeze that that was one area that definitely did not need work.

She felt cool air hit her back as her shirt was tugged upward. It was more a relief than a shock; she was beginning to feel too warm as it was. Tearing herself way from Owen, Gwen lifted her own shirt up and over her head in once smooth movement. Reaching behind, she unclasped her bra and tossed it to the floor as well, enjoying the way Owen’s eyes widened in appreciation.

“Wow,” he breathed.

She couldn’t help but grin. Men were so easily impressed. “You plan on staring all night, or are you going to join me?”

That seemed to motivate him because his jumper soon landed next to her shirt.

Gwen cocked her head to the side, comparing what was before her now with the last time she’d seen Owen undressed. She smirked. “Jack got to you, didn’t he, with the abs comment?” It wasn’t a great difference, but there was a bit more definition than had been there before.

“Been going to the gym for awhile, the results just weren’t easy to see until recently.”

“Liar.”

His only response was to grab her right hand and drag her close, bringing their bare skin into direct contact. Gwen preferred some hair on her men, but the smooth, uninterrupted press of the hard planes of his chest against her breasts was an enjoyable change. Further analysis was cut short as he kissed her, greedy and demanding, leaving her with no doubt that the time for looking was over. That was fine by her. The more time she had to look meant the more time she had to think, and she really wasn’t too eager to think much at the moment.

A hand deftly undid the fastening on her jeans, slipping inside and teasing along the cotton waistband of her knickers. He was soon murmuring against her ear, “So, here’s the question of the hour, newbie: you the exhibitionist sort? Or would you rather take this to more predictable quarters?”

There was something enticing about getting shagged on full display for the odd boat that might pass by. Why else would someone like Owen have a window like that unless he liked to put on a show? But she had a feeling if they stayed out here, they’d likely end up on the floor. Nice though the carpet seemed, she really didn’t fancy a case of rug burn.

She wound her fingers in his short hair and tugged his head back so she could look at him. “Again, I’ll remind you, my name has one syllable and is really easy to use. Also,” she tugged just a little harder, making certain she had his full attention, “sex is one area that I haven’t been a newbie in for a very, very long time.”

He grinned. “Well, then, Gwen,” somehow he managed to imbue the one syllable of her name with all the innuendo of any of his pet names, “shall we shift to my bedroom then?”

She let him lead the way, giving him just enough time to get in the room and switch on the light before pinning him back against the wall.

“I’m not exactly old fashioned,” he chuckled, “but shouldn’t our positions be reversed here?”

“Should, maybe,” she purred. Then leaning close, she nipped playfully at his left ear. “Do you seriously think you could take me, Owen?”

“I’m more than a match for you, sweetheart.”

“Prove it,” she whispered dangerously.

“I knew you were the rough and tumble sort, Gwen.”

Before she could retort, she found their positions quickly reversed. He gripped her wrists tightly and pulled them over her head.

“Jack’s not the only one who got to me that day.” His voice was a low rumble. The low rumble that called to something primal in her.

It would have been easy enough to prove him wrong, show Owen that she’d always be able to get free if she wanted to, that whatever he may have learned she would still be able to one up him. But at the moment, she really didn’t want to be free.

“You were a good cop, weren’t you, Gwen?”

What did that have to do with anything? “Suppose so. Why you asking?”

“If you were a good cop, that means you were good at following orders. Am I right?”

Well, she’d been good until she ran into Torchwood. “Most of the time.”

He grinned at her. “Brilliant. So then if I tell you to leave your hands here,” he pressed her wrists a little bit more firmly into the wall, “then I can be assured you’ll leave them there until I say otherwise?”

She narrowed her eyes, regarding him suspiciously. “It all depends.”

“I’d ask you to trust me, but we both know that’s not happening,” he sighed.

“If you want me to keep them where they are, I will. For now,” she added pointedly.

“I suspect if I said ‘Good girl’ right now, I’d get a slap?” Owen released the grip on her wrists and took a step back.

“Oh, there’s no doubt.”

“Remind me of that later, yeah?” He winked and then dropped to his knees.

Gwen found herself genuinely surprised. If she’d ever cared to let her thoughts stray to this area, she definitely would have thought Owen far too self-involved to even consider going down on a woman without a considerable deal of bargaining beforehand.

As if reading her thoughts, he said conversationally, “Gwen, you said earlier that I don’t know you? Well, sweetheart, you really don’t have a clue about me.” He started to tug down her jeans, smiling at her pink, lacy underwear. “So tough but still every bit a girl underneath.”

“They’re my favorite pair, I’ll have you know,” she informed him as he lifted first her right then left leg to remove her jeans before moving back up and slipping his fingers up under the elastic of her knickers. “So they better not be disappearing anywhere. Understood?”

He began to slowly draw the lacy garment down, taking his time. “I seem like that type, don’t I?” After having removed them completely, he considered them. “Not really my thing. I admire them, but what bloke doesn’t? I just don’t have much use for them without their owner.” That said, he made a point of laying them in clear view on top of her jeans. “If you can’t find them after all is said and done, Gwen, it won’t be any fault of mine.”

Cheeky git.

As Owen ran his palms slowly up her bare legs, it suddenly struck her that she was starkers and on full display against the wall in Owen Harper’s bedroom. But the most amazing thing of all was that she found herself perfectly all right with that. Christ, she really was next door to crazy if this wasn’t bothering her.

She was abruptly dragged from her thoughts as her thighs were nudged gently apart. The slight tease of warm breath was all the warning she had before Owen’s mouth was buried in her pussy. She wasn’t allotted the luxury of shock as he set right to work, tongue delving between folds and seeming to find the spots that made her toes curl on the first try. It seemed that he not only had no problem going down on a woman, but he really knew what he was about.

Somehow, Gwen managed to keep her hands in place, tempting as it was to bring them down to rest on Owen’s head. Not that he needed any guidance. Probing, worrying, backing off just at the right moment before pressing on once more.

And then he stopped.

But before she could protest, Owen was lifting her left leg up from the ground and hooking it back over his shoulder. He set back to work with renewed vigor, the new, more open position providing Gwen with a fresh assault of sensation. She had thought him talented before, but now…God. She hooked her leg tighter around him, opening herself up just a bit more, pulling him closer.

Finally she came, shuddering hard as Owen’s seemingly insatiable mouth brought her down.

Fucking hell. It seemed that some of the man’s ego was entirely justified.

She leaned heavily against the wall as he gently unhooked her leg.

“You can bring those down now,” he said, standing eye-level again once more.

She blinked at him dazedly for a moment before his words sunk in. She let her arms fall forward to rest on his shoulders.

Swallowing, she found her voice. “You were right, Owen. I really don’t know you at all, do I?”

He shook his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “And aren’t you glad you don’t?”

Too right. Though she doubted all the surprises would be so pleasant.

When she didn’t reply, she saw his lips curl smugly. “This is doing wonders for my ego, you know.”

She didn’t doubt it. If they stood like this much longer, she had a feeling he was going to get insufferable. Fortunately, the feeling had returned to her arms, as well as the rest of her body, which allowed her to take back control of things. She pulled him close.

“Now I think it’s my turn,” she whispered before capturing his lips with her own. The lingering salty tang of herself clinging to him only drove her on and she deepened the kiss. It wasn’t something she would ever admit, but Gwen had always enjoyed the taste of herself when mixed with another.

Reluctantly, she broke the kiss and then shoved Owen away, forcing him to stumble backwards and land heavily on the bed. She didn’t let him alone for long, joining him a moment later and shoving him to lie back as he started to sit up, straddling his chest to hold him there.

“My turn, remember?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, eying her with naked pleasure.

“Good boy.” She grinned. Then, pushing herself up, she stood in front of him, considering his still half-dressed state. “This is striking me as very unfair.”

He linked his hands behind his head and smirked up at her. “The fact that I’ve seen yours but you haven’t seen mine yet?”

“As you recall, it’s the only thing of yours I haven’t seen yet.”

“Nothing’s stopping you now, is it?”

No, nothing was. She bent forward and started to unfasten his fly. When it was halfway undone, she paused. “Time for the age old question.”

“Boxers or briefs?”

She nodded.

“So which do you think it is?” He moved his right hand down to cover hers to keep her from peeking.

“Both.”

“I strike you as the boxer-briefs type?”

“When you have to bother at all,” she replied. “Makes the most sense. All the support you could want without sacrificing fashion.”

“And I strike you as the sort who cares about fashion?”

“Do I really need to answer that?”

“Point taken.” He still didn’t move his hand. “So what is it tonight? Boxer-briefs or nothing?”

“Since you’re still dressed from work, I’m voting on the former.”

He moved his hand and let her draw the zip the rest of the way down to reveal simple cotton navy boxer-briefs. Well, not so simple; they were high end, designer and with a higher thread-count than her sheets at home.

“I think even Ianto would be impressed,” she commented as she started to tug his trousers off.

“The great stoic one?” He snorted. “Takes more than fancy knickers to impress that lad.”

“Jack in fancy knickers?” she queried, moving back up to hook her fingers in the waistband of Owen’s drawers.

“Good eye, newbie. Though I’d wager good money that our illustrious leader doesn’t trouble himself with the trivialities of undergarments of any size, shape, or quality.”

She thought for a moment. “He doesn’t,” she said with absolute conviction.

Owen propped himself up. “And you know this how?”

“Target practice.” And to effectively put an end to the conversation, she decided now was the time to relieve Owen of his shorts. Which she did, pulling them off and tossing them away in one quick movement.

Owen lay there on the bed looking slightly stunned, his cock bobbed faintly in time to his heart rate. It was pretty average in size from her experience, but certainly nothing to be ashamed of.

“What?” he asked, the faintest edge of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

She smiled at him. “Just trying to figure out what you were so ashamed of the day Carys left you starkers in the holding cell.”

“Wasn’t ashamed.” Uncertainty had been edged out by relief. “It’s damn cold down there, would make any bloke think twice about showing off.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t exactly the ideal space to parade around in.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

She smirked. “Well, the cold doesn’t have the same side effect for women as it does men.”

“Which is decidedly unfair. Speaking of which…” He reached up and pulled her down to join him on the bed, rolling so that she was beneath him. “My apartment’s not exactly the warmest place on earth. What do you say we move things along before the cold puts me at a disadvantage?”

She reached down, wrapping the fingers of her right hand firmly around his cock. She moved her hand lightly along the length, smiling as it responded to her touch. “Something tells me the cold really isn’t an issue at the moment.”

“Keep that up and there certainly won’t be.” He kissed her then, the contact short and teasing, retreating every time she started getting too eager. His weight shifted somewhat as he reached over to fumble in his bed-stand drawer.

“Why am I not surprised?” she laughed.

“What, you’d rather I had to get up and go clear across the room?” he asked. This was followed by a quiet "Ah-ha!" as he found what he was looking for. He held up the foil condom wrapper. “Would you like the honors? Or shall I continue to do all the work this evening?”

Gwen took the wrapper and tore the top off with her teeth. “And you seem so miserable because of it.” Freeing the condom, she added it in with the earlier play of her hand and had it on Owen a few seconds later.

There was a look of genuine approval on his face. “You really aren’t a newbie here.”

“And neither, it seems, are you,” she murmured, enjoying the flush of pleasure at the memory of Owen’s earlier attentions.

“I manage well enough, I suppose,” he replied with false modesty.

“At least in one area,” she challenged.

“You’re a right comedienne, you are.”

She had a feeling they could go back and forth like this all night. They already had for a good portion. It had been a good long time since she’d last had this dynamic with anyone. A touch of fire she hadn’t known she’d been missing until now.

“Owen?”

“Yes, Gwen.” He batted his eyelashes at her. Christ, he was just too much sometimes.

She tightened the grip she still had on his cock, tugging slightly. “I think it’s time you shut your gob and shagged me.”

“The mouth on you,” he tsked, maneuvering into position until his cock was nudging at her center.

“You have no idea.” She grinned up at him wickedly before pulling him down to shut him up the most effective way she had found.

He chose that moment to thrust home, sheathing himself in one efficient, back-arching stroke. God, it felt glorious. She hooked her right leg around him, both opening herself up and holding him there. Owen’s hand skated along the curve of her bottom and came to rest mid-thigh.

He broke the kiss, nipping along her jaw until he reached her ear, managing to find the spot just behind the lobe that made her squirm. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough. “Something tells me that you like to drive. Am I right, Gwen?”

Suddenly, Gwen found herself on top. She slowly pushed her way upright, enjoying the way his cock felt as it shifted inside her with the changing angles. But what she liked even better was watching his face as she moved, cocky self-assuredness giving way to pure pleasure.

Once she was fully upright, she gradually levered herself up off of his cock before sinking back down with the same deliberate slowness. Up and down, varying the angle a bit here and the speed a bit there, changing it up based on the way his face twisted just so or how his fingers gripped her hips just a bit tighter.

But he only let her run the show for so long and soon began to match her movements. She’d like to have come undone the first time he thrust up as she was coming down.

“Liked that, yeah?”

She just nodded, not trusting her voice.

When he sat up just enough to reach one of her breasts, latching on, Gwen cried out. She’d never thought anything good could come from Owen’s mouth. She had known talking wasn’t what it did best. She just had no idea what it could do better.

She cradled the back of his head, holding him there as she rode him harder.

Hands and mouths and bodies moving against each other, she soon lost all sense of self for the pleasure of sensation. She was dimly aware of his thumb coming to rest against her clit before she was tumbling over the edge, clinging to him tightly as she came. Then he cried out, thrusting up into her one more time causing her to fall again.

They lay in a tangled heap after, the condom neatly disposed of with a two-point shot into the nearby wastebasket. She thought she caught a very breathless “Bloody hell” from Owen, but otherwise neither of them said anything, their breathing the only sound breaking the silence. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was…nice. Gwen had a feeling that she should be feeling really guilty or at least awkward by this point as reality reasserted itself. But she didn’t. Yet. It would come. Right now, however, she felt more relaxed than she had in a very long time.

“Feel free to shove me out if I’m being a nuisance,” she informed him and resisted the urge to burrow further into his bed. It was a nice bed. Or maybe it was a crap bed but felt so good because she felt like she could sleep for the first time in weeks.

If she weren’t so tired, she would have been surprised by the hand that started to stroke lazily through her hair and the body that curled close around her. But surprise was lost in the sense of contentment.

“Not much of a nuisance, unless you hog the covers,” was the quiet reply as said covers settled around her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she murmured, feeling herself begin to drift off. Just a quick nap, then she’d be on her way.

There may have been a “You’re welcome,” but sleep claimed her before she could be certain.


End file.
